


Crave

by Astray



Series: Poisoned [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Lupo acting as a wolf again, M/M, drawing blood - Freeform, dub-con, in the street, violent smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge. It was revenge that made Il Lupo hunt Malfatto down, following him until he was vulnerable enough to be attacked. He still rages at having been poisoned by the doctor and decides to get back at him, in kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crave

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a kinkmeme prompt in which Anon requested a fill where Il Lupo uses his killing technique for something else than killing. Thus the plotbunny was born. 
> 
> Disc.: I don't own them because if I did, Malfatto would have jabbed a needle in my neck a long time ago. Not that I did not deserve it.

His target was not far, he could sense it. Too far for him to catch its scent but close enough for him to know. Creeping across the rooftops, he made his way to a conveniently placed perch from which he had a perfect view on the busy street down there. What a stupid idea though, sending him during a festival. Even though it was nowhere as grand as Venezia's carnivale, the fact that everyone was wearing a mask did not help. At all. A sudden move in his peripheral vision made him focus on the figure walking briskly in the street – cutting through the crowd, purposeful. Too easy – there was to be a trick. The doctor garb was too easy to fake. It was too common – he could be harmless. But he could not take any chance. He knew that man – he had seen him work. A flash of green at his belt – a full syringe. Not the kind normal doctors carried about, that much he was certain. Smirking to himself, he waited for him to turn a corner and launched himself through the evening air, down onto a cart of hay.  
The chase would be a short one. He did not need to go so far – just glimpsed waxed robes slipping away. A startled yelp. He could almost hear it – the sickening sound of a needle sinking into the skin. It made him smirk in a way that others often related to his namesake. He had known about the doctor for a fairly long time now – he knew his habits, his haunts – his preferred killing methods. None were pleasant for the victim. The man was getting too sure of himself. And since he had received no direct orders as to how he would have to deal with him, Il Lupo decided to go for the interesting one. He was certain someone would mock him. But alas, he had never been a courtesan and thus never was too disgusted with human contacts. If human applied to him. Which he doubted most of the time. 

It was almost too easy – the good doctor slinking back to a dark alley – on the hunt for the next one. Rome had long since become a murder manufacture. It suited him just fine. Too close from his previous prey but Lupo could not care less. Blood bathes had never been a problem for him anyway – if anything, it was so normal an occurrence that it lost his previously arousing traits. He could have killed Malfatto three times and counting already – twice from the roof, and another time just as the 'practitioner' made his way in the covered space. Dropping soundlessly to the ground, he stalked nearer, too close for comfort. It was risky. He had seen him spin on his heels to jam a needle in the throat of the one after him. Cahin had just gotten extremely lucky that Malfatto had no intention of killing him at the time. Again, after weeks of watching, he had learned. However, it was just as though Malfatto had not noticed him – his whole body tensed, a sign that his target was close, rather than an indication of him seeing Il Lupo. Just as the doctor took another step forward, he struck. His arms closed around the man's frame, his switch blade pointed at Malfatto neck. Despite the heavy waxed clothe that usually shielded his skin, the prowler knew better. It might shield him from touch, not from the blade. He could almost feel his pulse under the blade, even without applying any pressure. His deep, controlled breathing. It brought back memories from his last encounter with the doctor. Lucky that he was not facing Malfatto – he could feel heat rushing to his face – shame, anger – and perhaps, just perhaps, a remnant of hunger. He was so close to him, closer than they ever got when working – closer than himself had ever got to anyone without killing intent. He did not plan on killing Malfatto. He did not want to. He should have worried about getting a needle jammed into his side but the doctor remained absolutely still. 

“Should I wish you a good evening, Lupo?” His tone was complacent, mocking. It would have sent people away but it only showed that he had let himself caught. And it irked the wolf to no end. 

“What now _Dottore_ >? You don't even attack me?” 

“I should be asking you what you want. Certainly, though you are ever so transparent. Always had been.” 

It was meant to make him fall into his snare and get angry and the worst part was that it worked. Lupo was seething. After what the man did to him, poisoning him – forcing him to let go of his control. He hated him for this. His mind brought up the fact that it could have been worse. Malfatto could have forced him – technically, he was the one who forced himself on the man. Nevermind the poison used on him – he should have tried to resist him better. Whether or not he wanted to resist Malfatto was, however, an open question. Of course, he would never have wanted to give in to the doctor on a normal occurrence. That had not been a normal encounter, and somehow, he doubted that anything related to either of them could ever qualify as such. He did not reply to Malfatto – he grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, a hand curled around his neck.

“If so transparent I am to you... what am I going to do now?” It came as a hiss through bared teeth, the low sound threatening enough that anyone else would have cowered. Lupo guessed that his mask gave Malfatto a certain advantage – though he knew what was behind it. 

“You won't kill me, obviously.”

There, he had him. Pressing against the cold, hard body of the doctor, Lupo only had to whisper a few words to send him in a panic. Malfatto was struck. He could not be serious. He could not. He had thought the effects would have worn off and that the wolf had been willing. And so he had to ask. Only to be met by stony silence. Malfatto was rarely ever worried by anything or anyone, but it was different with Il Lupo. Something about him made his heart race in anticipation and fear, and he was grateful for his mask. He had a hunch it would not last, mostly because it was not in Lupo's habit to let his victims feel comfort of any kind – that he did not intend to kill him did not alleviate the fact that he was prey. Probably he deserved it. He would certainly get back at anyone playing him or poisoning him. A sharp sting brought him back to present – warmth traced after steel – skin not cut. His upper garb, however... no wonder Lupo's victims looked so neat some times, the cut dreadfully straight and clean. Even his sharpest blade was not that sharp. And this blade was a hair breadth from his neck – down his clavicle, finishing to cut off the garment. Held in place only by his hat and mask. As though reading his thoughts, the hat went off, just as a hand snaked behind his head. He could have hurt the wolf, the blade too close to a vital vein for him to move. He was so close, he could have kissed him – he had kissed him. His mask made it hard to see but even so he could see the anger – the starving rage in his cold eyes. In his mind flashed recollections from this very same face contorted in the throes of pain and pleasure. He had been so lovely. 

A sudden move, he closed his eyes, his face suddenly whipped by the cooling air. He opened them slowly, only to fall on the impassive features of the prowler. His mask laid on the ground, unneeded. It was a strange feeling, to be fully clothed but naked at the same time and he had to wonder. When was the last time he went to the streets without wearing his mask? Not so much since he had taken his vows as a doctor, which was quite a long time prior. Cold metal moved to his cheek, forcing his face to the side. He could not see him properly, peripheral vision not enough for him to know for sure. However, the growing pressure against his upper body clearly indicated at the the prowler was leaning closer to him. What was his real name? Did he have any? He had to scoff at this. He was stuck between a killer, a blade and a wall and he wonders about surnames? Surely he was not as sane as he would have thought he was. Probably even less that some of his colleagues would think. His hair stood on ends when he felt the hot breath of Lupo on his ear and neck. “Not so sure anymore, _Dottore_? You didn't act so coy when I was at your mercy... Is it the role reversal, perhaps?” The blade shifted lower, briefly nicking his jaw before sliding down the waxed overcoat. And stopping. “Or something else entirely?” 

“Ever the gentleman, giving me a way out.” Maybe it was not the wisest thing to do. Taunting a man capable of slicing pretty much anything into bits was risky. Doing so when they hold a blade so close to his genitals – and femoral arteries – was pricelessly dumb. He was not surprised when Lupo emphasized this last point and he could not repress a shudder. And the totally inappropriate wave of arousal that coursed through his lower body. Stupid biology. 

“A permanent way out is always an acceptable option.” Lupo was surprised to feel the doctor pressing back against him – probably he was not aware of it, considering how close they were. But it was still there. Not to mention another kind of reaction that left him speechless for a few seconds. Who would have thought? He would never have guessed that the good doctor Malfatto found the prospect of death so exciting. He will never let him live this one down. He let out a hiss when Malfatto ground back against him even more, memories from their last encounter spilling into his conscious mind. He was not going to lie... he wanted him. Just not in a way that the doctor would find so appealing, that was for sure. Himself did not mind nearly as much though. After all, who would walk upon them? Drunks and whores rarely go nearby – unless as corpses. The guards knew it and avoided the area. On a whim, he closed the distance between him and Malfatto, kissing him as roughly as he could. Teeth clashing and biting – he will not bother with gentleness. He could have died from the poison, and he was going to make him pay for that. Unknown to the other man, he withdrew his blade, not after cutting threads here and there. Working his way under the heavy robes, he relished in the shudder he got in response. His gloves muted the sensations but he knew – hot, sweaty skin – from hours wearing such heavy garments under a relentless heat. He dipped his head to the side, licking and nipping at the tender skin of Malfatto's neck. He remembered the taste of his skin... he inhaled deeply, imprinting his scent in his mind. A habit of his – keeping track of people. Hunger threatened to make him go insane. It ran deeper, starvation at the highest level, encasing his chest in a vice-like grip. 

He took hold of Malfatto's sides, so hard he could almost feel his ribcage move – his shallow breathing. The doctor wanted him – and that alone made him feel powerful. He was actually ruling over this cold and calculating man. He shoved his left leg against the other man, forcing his legs apart. Heat radiated from his body despite the now rather cool air of the night. His own clothes were hindering him and while part of him resented the intrusion – and wanted to get rid off all those layers, he was well aware that getting naked in a street was far from being a clever idea. Just in case. And that would imply him to get rid off his weapons. An absolute no-go for him. He could feel himself smirking anyway. The strangeness of the situation had something oddly enticing. In other circumstances, he knew what would have befallen his victim. A swift cut through the ribs, or an open throat. But it was not just anyone – it was the mad doctor of Cesare. He was not allowed to kill him, that much he knew. Nor did he want to. Malfatto could have ended him easily enough. Did not do it. Enough of this thinking. His right hand rose to this neck he could so easily break – a pull – so he would know. It was not a kiss – he was devouring him – up to his very mind, whatever was left of it. A whiff of poison hit him – faint cantarella from hours of bending over the preparations – not enough to make him sick. Hands caught his shoulders, the absence of his own weapon drawing the man to act. At this point he did not mind so much. The grip was heavy enough to bruise, had he been naked.  
He would not let Malfatto have the upper hand. The doctor had played once already, now it was time to turn the tables. Regaining his footing, he slammed Malfatto into the wall, growling into the kiss. Mark of ownership if it was anything. The fallen prey was on the ground forgotten as he parted the doctor's remaining clothes - his outer robe was mostly whole, so he had no qualms tearing at his shirt. The feeling of the man body pressing against his own was maddening - and he pressed harder, almost to the point he knew he was hurting him. Malfatto made a choking noise, and Lupo relinquished his grip ever so slightly. 

"I will not go easy on you." It was not a question, it was not up for the debate. A mere statement. Their very situation made for rash, violent actions and while Lupo tended to avoid it, he had no wish to give Malfatto the satisfaction of having a break. And apparently the doctor was in like spirits. 

"I never asked you to. Do what you want." _I will take it all, whatever it is._ It was insane. As a doctor, Malfatto knew what he risked - Lupo was famed for his ruthlessness, which he already had experienced. But both knew that all the resentment had to be dealt with somehow - only then would things be back to normal. Sickening blood-feud written in poison. He had to time to think as a hand grasped his right arm, flinging him back against the wall. He knew that Il Lupo was rarely so violent, the only reason for this would then be rage. It was exhilarating. Terrifying because his life hung by a thread - loyalty to Cesare was one thing but he trusted Lupo to make his life Hell. And liberating. When a gloved hand came to his hip, he felt the urge to reach out for the wolf standing behind him. He could feel his arousal despite that ridiculous outfit of his. Mouth latching on the nape of his neck, as cats do. A warning. The feather-touch of leather against his heated skin drawing a shaky breath from his lips - he craved more - the gentle caress too much to bear. 

"What is it that you want, _Malfatto._ " How his name rolled from those lips - obscene - inescapable in its finality. He wanted him - needed the wolf - all of him. _His._ Somehow, he must have said something because the next thing he knew, he was drowning in sensations. Hard, damp stone scratching his cheek and torso - he could barely breath as Lupo touched him. He tried to brace his hands against the stones - to protect himself from its bite, to shake the prowler off - to get closer to him. Another hand snaking around him, lifting him from the wall, tracing his chest - echoes of their other encounter - mirroring older marks. And still that mouth wandering on his back, yanking his remaining garments off. He let his arms fall to his side, waxed blackness dripping to the ground. Breeches, boots and gloves - a mockery. Teeth racking his spine, mind-shattering marks building an arson in his veins. He was a city - Lupo was his personal Nero. He felt more than heard him kneel - he could have freed himself - and still he hold, his legs shaking from exertion. Hand on his hip - steadying him - the Devil's lips a brand on his back. He feared what his prowler would have in mind - he did not need for him to care. He did not want to. Time to bring the pain - a giant pit in his guts swallowing all, making him crave it. He could taste it, as a man deprived of food. 

"Lupo." His control in tatters - his moves erratics - withdrawal - coldness whipping his body. A low chuckle - sugared arsenic to his ears. It had been a feeble sound he made, a whine he was ashamed of having uttered. A sound heard by the other man nonetheless. Breathing so shallow it felt like his lungs had shrunken under pressure. Desperate. He was desperate - touch alone no longer enough to quench the thirst that ran in his body turning his veins to sand. 

Pain - searing, tearing - blinding pain. Unexpected. Forgot to breath - death coming in waves crashing him down on rocks. He would have screamed - he was screaming - voice sealed off by the wolf's lips. Wildfire up his spine, his body torn apart. No movement but the dizzying pain that had him tense like a bow. Hands caressing his skin, soothing as one would a scared colt. Shuddering exhale - his lungs filling at last. His fingers felt cold, the stone damp - digging into his skin. The kiss - he could drown - nearly gentle counterpoint to the split he was feeling. A warm body slowly edging him to relax, clever hands coaxing his muscles into loosening, the touch of a man who knew too much about that kind of pain. He had to. His mind went blank at the slightest move, unconsciousness coming to claim him - receding then as tide. Slowly, calm creeping into his bones, imprinting the moment in his marrow. Warmth down his leg - had to be blood. Not enough to worry him though. He drew another breath - he felt him. Still as a statue, encroaching him against the wall. Look to the side, his face inches apart. Breathless. Pained. Malfatto had no idea if it was the knowledge of what he was inflicting, or the actual pain he might be feeling himself that made Lupo's face contort so. Something washed over him, without his knowing. Longing. He still wanted him - craved him - and the pain be damned to Hell. He ground against him - reciprocating what gesture Lupo had shown him prior. A high-pitched whine answered him, muffled by tightly closed lips. Restraint. The restraint Malfatto had once deprived him of was now hitting both of them full force, in Lupo's reluctance to move. Bracing himself on his hands, Malfatto pushed himself against the wolf as much as he could - no matter if his legs barely could support his own weight. Strong arms caught him, keeping him upward.  
It was no frantic coupling as Malfatto had expected - as though Il Lupo had to be sure - sure of what he knew not. But there was something oddly hesitant in his demeanour, and while the doctor had to admit he was grateful, he was also irked at this. He needed no gentleness from the wolf and did not expect any. It took a while, and eventually Lupo's pace picked up. Stone was chaffing his skin, those gloved hands driving him insane with the warmth they left in their wake, a kind of rough softness that caught on his shivering form. Past his ribcage, down - his touch matching his thrusts. 

Lupo could not believe he was doing that - of all the things. But deep down he knew. This was the reason why he had sought Malfatto out. Why he had bade his time on these roofs. Why he was being careful not leaving one inch of skin unmarked. Malfatto was Hell, a Hell he could remain in for longer than was wise. A Hell in which he minded not be damned. All qualms gone as the doctor seemed not to care. Neither would he. He brought his teeth to Malfatto's shoulder, mercilessly biting down - drawing blood. Small drops marking his skin - red ink of contracts. A signature intended for no witness. He was going made, lost in the furnace of Malfatto, his mind wrung from his body as he could not control himself anymore. Once again. He should hate him for that - could not bring himself to. He was free now. He could almost feel night lifting him on its wings upwards and upwards - away from the city's rotten humanity. The animal in him howling for more, to sate the hunger tearing at his body. And so he took - and took - unrelenting. Taking what he was given - more than he thought could be possible. Strings encasing his heart and pulling, his spine the center of a web threatening to tear him apart. He could not survive this - his life hanging in a storm he wrought. Thoughts lost - turn his head - sharing the taste of blood - lust - with the one who responsible for his willing lapse. Fingers stroking - a heart-wrenching shout echoing in the leaden stillness of the alleyway. His own spine splintered sending shards to his mind's eye in blinding heat. The beast roaring - hunger sated at last in a free fall. 

It took him a while to collect his bearings, to notice that he was literally driving Malfatto into the stone wall. That the man's body was strangely pliant and boneless. Withdrawing carefully, he held him fast, laying him on the ground. Still breathing, his face twisting against awareness. And then, his eyes open - dark - unfocused. Pain suffused his very expression. Lupo knew it had gone farther than either expected. Glancing down, he saw - blood on his hands - his fingers eaten raw by the ragged stone wall. His fault. A strange kind of... not sadness nor grief. Something softer. Ache. He was aching for this man he could have hated - should have hated. And he still resented him. But Malfatto had indeed cared for him. Now it was his turn to be taken care of. Lupo was many things, and most rumours were true. But it would not be said that he left his doctor here to rot away. He said it... _His._ Malfatto wa _his._ No love in it, just a matter-of-fact sense of possessiveness. And he did not care if Malfatto himself disagreed. He never cared about the man's thoughts, he was not going to start now.  
He dressed himself up, picked up Malfatto's belongings. To have him wear his mask now would be dangerous. No one seemed to know his face, so it was safe enough to go like this. He tucked the item under his cloak, wrapping the doctor in what remained of his clothes, fastening it all with one of his belts. He gathered him in his arms, with a care he could not quite explain himself. _I will take care of you, as your oath had you do for me._ He will never say these words aloud. Not even when he was bandaging Malfatto's hands under his questioning scrutiny. Not when he was applying salve on his cuts and wounds. Never. Because words are neither for wolves nor birds of prey.


End file.
